Filth Page 2

  What would Loraine do? What does almost every woman want to do when their ex, their first, fucks them over?

  I inhale, and then smile. Payback is a bitch, and tonight her name is Robyn.

  “I've heard about you.” My tone is flirty. It's a goddamn miracle.

  He's still wary but now I know, I know, he's not thinking with his head. He's still stuck in the spell from moments earlier. I can string him along and play with him.

  He asks, “Have you?”

  I dig in my memory for all the facts Loraine told me. “Former army, and when you were on leave, you stripped on the low.”

  His smile drops, and the scar is stark along his cheekbone. “Never have I stripped while I served my country.”

  I tense at the vehemence of the lie until I realize he might get in trouble for what he did. I want to fuck up his night, not his life. “I'm not trying to trip you up.”

  His shoulders go back to a looser position. “And what does all that mean?”

  I could lie, or I could tell the truth. Nate...from what I know of him, he won't care if I lay out my intentions. He'll still try to get into my pants.

  “It means, I'm not going to let you fuck me and drop me, Sugar.”

  His head snaps back like I've punched him. Good. His gaze drags down to my mouth, and he sucks in a sharp breath. “Well, Sugar, aren't you curious if you heard the truth about me?”

  What I've heard is that if you could insure body parts, his mouth and tongue would be worth at least a million.

  I dance around that. “That you can strip real well?”

  “Never did that,” he says again.

  Lies. I let my gaze rove over him. “You have the body for it.” My voice comes out husky, and I tell myself it's banked rage. “Bet you can do the whole Magic Mike routine.”

  He positions his body to face me, and every muscle he has seems to flex and ripple. The thoughtless display of masculinity is distracting as hell. I have to stay focused and not get lost in...him.

  But he says, “Since you seem to know everything about me, tell me something.”

  Oh, I know all I need to. “Tell me my name.” I raise my brow.

  I didn't tell him, but he wouldn't have remembered anyway. That's why he says Sugar in the panty-melting way he does. A woman's name is something unimportant to him. Asshole.

  He takes me in and spears his fingers through his hair. That's why it's messy. Sexy. I try to breathe my way through the onslaught of that simple yet arousing action, but he leans into my space. I can't sufficiently describe what that's like. Myself, the air around us, and him seem to be stuffed into a pressurized can. A shift of limbs or a sneeze could make us blow.

  His mouth brushes my cheek, my earlobe.

  “Stealth,” he says for my name.

  The word is unexpected, and I laugh. I ignore the fact my stomach is tight and so are my nipples from the simple heat of his mouth. “What?”

  “You put your tits on the counter to get the bartender's attention. That's stealthy so...Stealth and Heels.”

  His chest is warm, firm against mine. I can't remember why I hate him. “And or in?”

  “And.”

  He doesn't pull back as the word rumbles in his chest, and by proxy, through mine.

  I swallow down the ache he's made. “So you're admitting you have no idea what my name is.”

  “Yup,” he answers in a cock-sure way.

  If I move my hand a few inches, I can know if it's a well-deserved bragging right, but this isn't about what he can do for me, to me. This is about making him pay in a small way.

  I lower my voice and let the rasp of want twist my words. “I know what you are, Nathan.”

  “Are you going to give it to me?”

  Any other man, I would. I would let him show me just how good his mouth is.

  There's no mistaking Nate has an...obsession. He loves to eat pussy and taste it any way he can. It's not the normal run-of-mill kind of thing for him. As they say, practice makes perfect and his head game is A-one. He had Loraine strung out—her words, not mine—because he was that good, that passionate. That depraved. My heart skips but I can’t fall for his shit. I won’t.

  “You torture women,” I say, “you know that, right?”

  He edges back an inch or two. Enough I can see his brows go up in surprise. “Torture?”

  “Mindblowing head, and then they have to somehow live the rest of their lives cold turkey or with second best.”

  Loraine had. She'd given this man her virginity at twenty-five, and after that first time, he called her Sugar. Hadn't even bothered to remember her name despite the fact they'd dated for three months.

  The men she dated after that were half-hearted replacements for him. She didn't have the time to move on and replace him with someone better. The cancer that had stolen most of her twenties resurfaced. Her life...was cut short. She—I shake my head, not able to think it. My friend deserves a little revenge.

  Just a little bit. In her memory.

  “That makes you an asshole,” my voice is hard when I say it.

  “Not my fault I'm good at what I do.”

  His words make me hate him again. “It is when you know damn well the woman is looking to settle down.”

  “I never lie.”

  “You never turn a woman away either.”

  “She's an adult.”

  “You have every intention of destroying her world.”

  I doubt the statement as soon as it leaves my mouth. He hadn't promised Loraine love or a happily ever after. He'd told her from the beginning it was sex, and he was an epic dick.

  But for months he charmed her, took her to breakfast after long shifts in the NICU, worshiped her as though she was the only woman in the world. How could my friend not fall a little? How could he not even remember her fucking name? That's not asking for a goddamn wedding date. That's simple human decency.

  For that, I want him to hurt for just one second. I want him to feel a fraction of...I don't know. I just want to leave a bitter mark on his life, the way he put one on Loraine's. I'm not picky about how to do it either.

  This isn't like me, but I haven't been myself in so long how the hell can I remember?

  Anger flashes in his gaze and the white scar seems so primitive as though the real him is being revealed. “And what are you going to do about it, Sugar?”

  I'm not thinking, I'm just doing. “You want a taste of me, Nathan?”

  Whatever space that was left between us, disappears. He closes his teeth on my earlobe. My body doesn't care who he is. I go soft and wet at the gentle tug, the scrape of his teeth. He's scum. He shouldn't make me this wet without trying, but my nipples pull tighter, aching now too, as he adds tongue to the sharp bite.

  “Where do you want to go?” His voice is back to honey, but I'm the one dripping.

  I can't say what comes over me. I can't. I turn my back to the clubgoers, take his hand and guide it up my dress. My gaze jumps to his face so I don't miss a flicker of emotion. His jaw clenches before he closes his eyes.

  He traces two fingers over my pussy lips. His fingers go up and down, feeling me out. I stand still, shocked at what I've done. Paralyzed at how...good it feels to be touched by a hand that's not my own. In public. Anyone can turn around to see what I'm letting him do to me.

  My scalp tingles. The second sweep, he breaches my slit with his middle finger. This isn't blind fumbling or an eager beaver caress. He's mapping me out in slow, gentle strokes.

  I refuse to moan as he pushes inside me up to his knuckle. There might be a finger swirl around my swelling clit, I don't know. I'm holding my breath, trying not to come on his digit or clench tight to keep him there. Or rock my hips. Or push him to the floor and let him eat me like I'm his last goddamn meal.

  He tilts his head, all of his focus on my face. He taps my clit like he knows that's all he needs to do to get me off. I push his hand away because if he lingers I'm going to break.

  The problem
is, for a fraction of a second, I wanted to keep his hand on me. Let my blood pulse in my heart while my breath goes unsteady. I've missed touch. Shit, I almost forgot the hot rush of lust when it sings in my veins.

  He's the last fucking person who should make me feel that. I should have never let this man touch me, much less spark a need that I had thought died. I was supposed to make him regret fucking over my friend, but now all I want is for him to finish what I started.

  Worse, with his gaze still on me, Nate brings his fingers up to his nose. A deep breath, a deeper groan when my scent hits him. I can only stand there, incredibly turned on by his blatant appreciation of my pussy.

  My face burns hot as his finger slips between his lips. All thoughts cease. His mouth isn't harsh when it curves around my taste. I squeeze my thighs together and pray he doesn't notice.

  He doesn't. He's tracing his tongue over every bit of my juice off the digit.

  It's obscene.

  It's fucking filthy.

  I once had an exhibition fantasy and this is better than anything I could have imagined.

  His moan prickles my skin from head to toe. I want to fuck him blind.

  “You like?” I ask. I honestly want to know.

  “If you'd let me, I'd sit you on the bar and make you squirt.”

  “Just with your mouth?” I lean forward.

  From the way his lips curves I know the answer will be a promise and not a brag. “Yes.”

  I have got to walk away from him. Now. No questions. I see now Loraine hadn't lied. He's...dangerous.

  I take one last look at him. Every inch. Want, need, pounds into me. If it could, my pussy would start a hunger strike until I caved and let him lick me until I came. Twice.

  I have to do this. So I scrunch up my face and say, “Pass.”

  His mouth drops in shock. It's not hard to imagine no one has ever denied him the thrill of the chase. I have. I can almost see Loraine doing a fist pump. Yes. Yes. That's my girl!

  It's not hard to smile and mean it. I got him. I got him and good. It's the least he deserves for being a dick. Nate closes his eyes again, his head moving back and forth like he simply can't believe he fell for my act. When he opens his eyes, he spears me with a look that would kill me if it were possible.

  Finally he gives me a slow, angry as shit, golf clap.

  My smile widens. “But it's been interesting, Nathan,” I say and ooze fuck you, you Southern Charmer.

  “Tell whoever sent you, I fucking hope they get fucking crabs.”

  I laugh and pick up the drink he's paid for. Teasing him like that could have gone wrong in so many ways, but he's being a good sport about it.

  “Cute and funny. You had potential.” And he had. In spades. “Night, Nathan. Have a nice life.”

  I walk back over to Samantha and there's pep in my step. For the first time I feel like—the weight I seem to carry always is gone. I should exact revenge on assholes all the time. I could wear a cape and everything. Oh, man, it's such a high.

  Samantha is on me within seconds. “What happened?”

  I hesitate on telling her who he is. Her reaction will be dramatic, and I want the moment to stay as perfect and final as it is. “He was a dick.”

  “Well...” she says as though that's not a dealbreaker for what I want from tonight.

  Technically it's not. Had Nate been anyone but The Nathan Ellis, I would have taken him home and booted him out after I came four or five times. He was, though, and there went any chances of getting laid tonight. I really don't feel sorry for fucking up his night.

  I laugh at the shitty irony and simply say, “He's a fuckboy in a polo shirt. Not happening.”

  She pouts, and I know her disappointment is real and sincere and it's on my behalf. We met seven months ago in grief group. My doctor recommended the outing to me after noting, and I quote, a drastic change in my overall demeanor. To put this into perspective: my doctor is usually a straight to the point asshole. Bedside manner are two words that mean nothing. He told me I had to do more than work and go home. He also wrote a note suggesting I cut my work hours until I got steadier on my feet, because apparently a deep depression is not helped by a high-pressured job. I didn't take him up on the latter until recently, but I was there for Loraine's last moments. I had to stand by as she slipped away from the world. I swallowed every emotion down and soldiered on until I broke.

  The break was bad enough my asshole of a doctor noticed, and my shark of a boss agreed I should take it easy at work.

  Tonight was going to be my moment to live a little, to allow myself to forget how much I miss Loraine.

  Ha.

  I lift my drink, taking my lumps, because for once life doesn't entirely suck. I'll never see Nate again. Maybe he'll think about what he does to the next woman. Most importantly, I know my friend, the one who can't be here anymore, would be grinning and laughing it up.

  “To Loraine,” I say.

  Samantha's gaze softens. She's held me more than once as I shed tears. “I don't get why now, but I'll drink to that.”

  The martini goes done smooth, and I steal a glance in Nate's direction, wanting to see the destruction I've left in my wake.

  Except...

  Nate is dipping his finger into his drink, swirling the liquid with his middle finger. Heat rushes to my face as I stand transfixed while he slides his finger into his mouth. He's tasting me with scotch this time, and from the way he closes his eyes and tilts his head back, I taste just as good.

  I can feel the rasp of his fingertip again between my pussy lips. The ache in my everything is back.

  He's tasting me even when I'm not there.

  He's loving it, openly.

  I feel...powerful at my effect on him.

  I...feel and it's not grief or exhaustion. A hunger that has nothing to do with food stabs into my belly and takes the ache deeper. My eyes are now a mouth. I'm greedy for what he'll do next and what that will spark inside me. I feel, and if my emotions were a buffet, they'd have to roll me out of Fade as my gaze continues to eat up the way he goes for thirds and fourths, not once finding what he's tasting abhorrent.

  When was the last time I let a man taste me—Robyn Hayes—and want more?

  I should tear my stare away from him. He might glance in my direction, getting that preternatural sensation of someone looking at him. Samantha might ask what I'm gawking at.

  He fucked over Loraine. Stop it.

  That inner condemnation helps, but I knock back the rest of my drink for liquid courage. I may look again.

  I tell myself I'm lucky. If he'd actually put his mouth on me, I'd be fucked, and I probably wouldn't mind it.

  We're done, though.

  No more revenge to be had. No more of my pulse pounding. No more feeling.

  I walked away. Meeting him was a fluke. He's back out of my life, and that's a good thing.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ROBYN

  Monday means Starbucks with Samantha. No matter how I'm usually feeling, my spirits lift, but I can't shake the gnawing pit in my stomach. Not even the rich scent of coffee when I crack open the door helps.

  I've had this anxious anticipation since the club incident with Nate. No amount of work has helped me shake it. Sure, my hours are practically a skeleton shift at the firm for a paralegal—no, someone collating copies. Though today will be a rare one where I go in after hours to finalize any drafts before my boss goes over them making his own notes.

  The point is, every waking hour is accounted for, busy for this new me and yet—I can't shrug off the restless anxiety buzzing in my bones.

  I grip the door and breathe, doing my best to be present in the moment. A mantra that's been pounded into me during group grief therapy. Samantha, too, when I forget. I push the rest of the way into Starbucks, focusing on the barista behind the counter.

  I smile at Charlene and she returns it. She's twenty, maybe, and perpetually chipper. Her sunny smile and thick auburn locks round out the i
mage of a former cheerleader turned barista.

  “The chai latte?” she asks.

  “You know I don't drink anything else.”

  “I know. One of these days I'm going to get you to try the passion fruit tea.”

  “Tea is not supposed to taste like passion fruit.”

  Her brown eyes light up. “What is it supposed to taste like?”

  “I don't know. Britain, and stiff-upper lip disappointment that the tea leaves aren't steeped. If you're lucky it can have a kick of mint.”

  She laughs and shakes her head. “All right. All right.”

  I'm still smiling as she walks away. This is how I should feel. My life is stable and fulfilling. Isn't life made up of these kinds of moments?

  The thought doesn't even get the chance to settle before the hairs on my nape prickle followed by a jittery sensation fluttering in my gut. That's a new addition to the anxiousness.

  My next inhalation I know why.

  No.

  Hell, no.

  I do not want to fuck the man attached to that smell.

  Yet my eyes drift close at the delicious, musky scent—a familiar one. The air is tinged with a mixture of sandalwood, a little earthy and...yeah, what I kind of imagine a preppy Southern Charmer smells like.

  Surprise doesn't sink in. My heart flutters with something treacherous like excitement and lust. Yeah, there's irritation too, but it's overshadowed by how every hair on my head and nape stands on end.

  “Fancy seeing you here, Sugar,” is whispered in my ear.

  My shoulders jerk up as three things hit me all at once: I'm so glad I peed before I left the house. Southern accents make my heart skip beats. I should have known a guy like Nathan Ellis wouldn't let me get the last—proverbial—word.

  Didn't you though? Didn't you wish for this secretly when you turned to look at him one last time? When he had his finger in his mouth enjoying your taste?

  I sigh.

  My inner voice can be a dick sometimes.

  Inner musings or not, do I think he's hunted me down to murder me? Not likely. We're in a public place, and if he wanted to hurt me he would have by now.

  On the off-chance I'm wrong, I've been coming to this Starbucks for a year. They've yet to spell my name right, but I hope they'll call the cops if Nate is here to lose his shit. Plus, I think Charlene likes me. Then again, folks who work at Starbucks are perpetually cordial. I'm putting my life in caffeinated people's hands.